“That little affair of yours is known to the police,” said Dick; “about how you got fifty dollars out of a greenhorn on a false check, and it mayn’t be safe for you to go ashore.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the swindler with affected boldness, though Dick could see that he was ill at ease.
“Yes you do,” said Dick. “There isn’t but one thing to do. Just give me back that money, and I’ll see that you’re not touched. If you don’t, I’ll give you up to the first p’liceman we meet.”
Dick looked so determined, and spoke so confidently, that the other, overcome by his fears, no longer hesitated, but passed a roll of bills to Dick and hastily left the boat.
All this Frank witnessed with great amazement, not understanding what influence Dick could have obtained over the swindler sufficient to compel restitution.
“How did you do it?” he asked eagerly .
“I told him I’d exert my influence with the president to have him tried by habease corpus,” said Dick.
“And of course that frightened him. But tell me, without joking, how you managed.”
Dick gave a truthful account of what occurred, and then said, “Now we’ll go back and carry the money.”
“Suppose we don’t find the poor countryman?”
“Then the p’lice will take care of it.”
They remained on board the boat, and in five minutes were again in New York. Going up Wall Street, they met the countryman a little distance from the Custom House. His face was marked with the traces of deep anguish; but in his case even grief could not subdue the cravings of appetite. He had purchased some cakes of one of the old women who spread out for the benefit of passers-by an array of apples and seed- cakes, and was munching them with melancholy satisfaction.
“Hilloa!” said Dick. “Have you found your money?”
“No,” ejaculated the young man, with a convulsive gasp. “I sha’n’t ever see it again. The mean skunk’s cheated me out of it. Consarn his picter! It took me most six months to save it up. I was workin’ for Deacon Pinkham in our place. Oh, I wish I’d never come to New York! The deacon, he told me he’d keep it for me; but I wanted to put it in the bank, and now it’s all gone, boo hoo!”
And the miserable youth, having despatched his cakes, was so overcome by the thought of his loss that he burst into tears.
“I say,” said Dick, “dry up, and see what I’ve got here.”
The youth no sooner saw the roll of bills, and comprehended that it was indeed his lost treasure, than from the depths of anguish he was exalted to the most ecstatic joy. He seized Dick’s hand, and shook it with so much energy that our hero began to feel rather alarmed for its safety.
“‘Pears to me you take my arm for a pump-handle,” said he. “Couldn’t you show your gratitood some other way? It’s just possible I may want to use my arm ag’in some time.”
The young man desisted, but invited Dick most cordially to come up and stop a week with him at his country home, assuring him that he wouldn’t charge him anything for board.
“All right!” said Dick. “If you don’t mind I’ll bring my wife along, too. She’s delicate, and the country air might do her good.”
Jonathan stared at him in amazement, uncertain whether to credit the fact of his marriage. Dick walked on with Frank, leaving him in an apparent state of stupefaction, and it is possible that he has not yet settled the affair to his satisfaction.
“Now,” said Frank, “I think I’ll go back to the Astor House. Uncle has probably got through his business and returned.”
“All right,” said Dick.
The two boys walked up to Broadway, just where the tall steeple of Trinity faces the street of bankers and brokers, and walked leisurely to the hotel. When they arrived at the Astor House, Dick said, “Good-by, Frank.”
“Not yet,” said Frank; “I want you to come in with me.”
Dick followed his young patron up the steps. Frank went to the reading-room, where, as he had thought probable, he found his uncle already arrived, and reading a copy of “The Evening Post,” which he had just purchased outside.